Play For Me
by greentoothbrush
Summary: AU kind of Drabbley . . . Lament? I don't know. Warning DEPRESSING!  No Sex either


_This is my first attempt at anything serious or Twilight so please be gentle. It's been hanging around on my harddrive for ages and I didn't have the balls to put it up but, screw it! Don't be offended by this content it is _**not suitable for a young audience it contains mature and potentially offensive content**_ no sex either if that's what you're here for!  
This is a work of pure fiction, I own nothing. I also do not repent for using a Harry Potter quote in a Twilight fic; I LOVE BOTH. _

_~oOo~_

"_Do not pity the dead, Harry, pity the living. Above all pity those who live without love.__ " – __**Albus Dumbledore**_

~oOo~

"Play for me"

The words echoed through his pain fogged mind. He sipped and realised he had drank too much; he could not feel the burn in this throat anymore. The glass chinked against his teeth; his hands were shaking again.

"Please, play for me" she implored softly. So long ago so long since she had asked him. He had obliged, of course, despite the fact that he never played in public. He never refused his Bella anything.

He hadn't had the courage to compose for her, he was so uncertain of her feelings back then. Never of his own, he had always been hers from the moment he laid eyes on her.

He would compose now. On his last night without her he would play for her from his soul. He thought about her the woman who owned him body and soul.

The big things; Her inability to put her personal safety before those that she loved, her kindness even to those who didn't deserve it, her unwillingness to hurt anyone, yet she would kill for those she loved, her soft pale skin, her dark hair, her generosity, her refusal to take anything in return, her unswerving loyalty to her loved ones.

The small things; her inability to walk without falling over, the taste of her lips on his, the smell of her strawberry shampoo, her love of everything old or slightly broken yet functional, a freckle behind her left knee, her hatred of olives, her soft laugh so musical . . .so beautiful . . . so Bella

She hadn't laughed much near the end.

She had been hollow, she had known that although they had both fought as hard as they could death was coming for her as surely as he loved her. The beautiful girl he had fallen in love with was a broken woman. **It** had hollowed her from the inside out until she was a shadow of what she had been. He had loved her still.

Even as the hated cancer and chemo ravaged her body and slowly tore out her beautiful dark locks, he loved her still.

Even as they stole away her healthy plump frame, he loved her still.

Even when she could not move from her bed without his help, he loved her still.

Even when her racking cough brought up blood, he loved her still.

Even when the light in those beautiful chocolate eyes went out, he loved her still.

He loved her, more than anything more than everything.

His broad shoulders slumped at the onslaught of memories the racking sob, echoed through the empty apartment. Bella turning green before she vomited, Bella, her jaw clenched with the pain, Bella, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she stared at the clump of hair in her hand, Bella, cold and beautiful in her wooden box.

He took a deep breath, no. Tonight would be about the Bella he had first met who had enchanted him. He stumbled towards the piano and sat down. He tried to cleanse his mind of the images, that had haunted him since her death, and focus on who she was what she had accomplished.

He looked around the apartment, the pale colours contrasting with the bright furniture. Every item picked with painstaking care by her it was her pride and joy she had hated it when they scuffed the wall, just there, when moving the hospital bed in. He clenched his teeth no; no more.

He closed his eyes again and reached for the bottle again, just to take the edge off. The alcohol seared his throat reminding him he was alive. He stretched out his fingers on the ebony and ivory his fingers the same colour as the pale keys in the moonlight.

Pale skin.

He clenched his teeth and fingers, discordant sounds rang around the apartment. This was why he couldn't take it anymore; everything reminded him of her. It had been three months but the searing pain in his chest never went away, never numbed, sure the alcohol took the edge off until he could slip into unconsciousness but he woke up again with the pain and a killer hangover too boot. His routine now was to automatically reach for the bottle he kept next to him at all times.

Good old JD, his new best friend. All his family had given up trying to reach him, except for his mom. Every day she came still with anti depressants, he refused to take, and food, which he rarely ate. To tell him Bella wouldn't have wanted this life for him. To hold him, he sobbed at first, but he never cried now, she just sat next to him, he was hollow.

He could tell it was breaking her heart but he couldn't see the point . . . in anything. He apologised regularly causing hope to spark in her eyes, but it would go out when she saw his ribs poking out beneath his shirt or the empty bottles in the trash.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_The sun was dappled as it shone through the oak leaves. He looked up admiring the bright green shapes smiling, he loved the campus in summer. Next thing he was falling face first into the ground._

_He opened his eyes to a mane of chestnut hair and an apology. Then followed big soft brown eyes and blushing red cheeks. _

_He never looked back._

The next few years flew. Things stood out, meeting her parents, introducing her to his. Proposing, being turned down for ridiculous reasons. Proposing again and actually getting a yes. Travelling around Europe with her. Applying to jobs together after college.

The memories blurred together in his mind to form one crystalline image of her; his Bella. Fulfilling his mind, he began to play and scribble.

He played, wrote the notes and drank feverishly through the night.

They found him in the morning, pills scattered across the grand piano around a bottle of whiskey. Lying on his back on the floor. The music sheets clutched in his hand. Illegible to everyone but those who knew him, it said; "_For Bella_". Today she would have turned twenty five.

For those that knew him thought, what else would it say? Who else would he have written his final words to?


End file.
